Stripped

The sunlight hit me like a hammer. I'd gone from midnight to noon in the opening of a door. Strip Club. I knew why they called it that now. I didn't have a dollar left. If I came back, I'd have to bring a lot more money. And if I wanted a lot more money, I'd have to get a job. I couldn't spend my mother's and my father's money on this. I'd go to hell for sure. Besides, I had a girlfriend. It was stupid and wrong. Of course, that was why I liked it.

But what do you do at three o'clock in the afternoon after you've been sitting in a Go-Go bar? I didn't feel like studying. The beer had made me hungry. I'd go home and make a sandwich and hang out by the pool.

It took just over a week before I found myself pulling into the parking lot of the Go-Go lounge again. I hadn't meant to, hadn't planned on it, but I was there. It wasn't as difficult this time. I was experienced.

I'd already counted my money and separated it, putting the singles in my right front pocket, the larger bills in my left. I had the fiver in my hand when I walked into the gloom.

"Five dollars," said the rough voice on my right. I handed him the bill without hesitation and headed straight for the bar. The server followed me to the stool. "Give me a beer," I said before she could ask me. A girl in black high heels was dancing. The shoes were pointed and looked too big on her as if she was a kid parading around in the house in her mother's size eights. She wore black underwear and held herself up with one hand on a fire pole that ran from stage to ceiling. I was certain that if she let go, she would topple over on her back. But she didn't let go of the pole. Rather, she reached up with both hands over her head and set herself twirling around and around like an Olympic competitor, circling her legs around the cold metal and letting go, her head stretching to the floor until she was looking at me upside down. I felt my face go red. She stared into my eyes and licked her lips, then stuck one finger in her mouth and sucked on it for a second before slowly placing it between her legs.

"That'll be two-fifty." The barmaid was standing beside me with the beer. I was glad for the interruption.

It wasn't as bright outside when I left this time. Traffic was heavy as people were driving home after work, anxious to make supper and watch the evening news. I thought for a moment. Did my mother drive by here on her way home? I imagined getting the angry phone call that night. What would I tell her? "Oh, mom, don't be silly. A guy in my class is working there. I just dropped off some assignments he missed in class." Yea. That would work.

But the traffic did make me nervous. I really didn't want anyone I knew seeing me coming out of this joint. No, this was a secret.

I was going to see Sherri that night, and I smelled like a very bad bar, so when I got home, I stripped off my clothes and leaped into the shower. Drying off, though, I could still smell something. The whole apartment smelled like it. What the hell? Then I realized what it was. The little pile of clothes lying on the floor had soaked up the sweet and sour smell of cigarettes and beer. They were saturated. It made me wonder what the older, married fellows told their wives when they got home. I was going to have to do some laundry.

Picking up my pants, I went through the pockets, placing my keys and the few dollars I had left on the dresser. My wallet? Where was my wallet? In a panic, I patted down my pants, once, twice, sticking my hands into the pockets over and over again. I swiveled my head quickly back and forth, eyes scouring the floor. I looked at the dresser top, then ran into the bathroom. Shit! Maybe it was in the car, I prayed, grabbing my keys and slipping on my flip-flops as I ran out the door. My eyes were already scanning the front seats as I shoved the key into the lock. Nothing. I jumped into the driver's side and ran my hands along the floorboard. I reached up under the seat where I found some old papers and gum wrappers and three pencils, but nothing like a wallet. I got out of the car and kneeled on rough cement, sticking my head into the car so that I could peer beneath the seats. Over and over again, I ran my hands under the floor mats and into dark recesses where I could not see. No, no, no.

But there wasn't any luck. The wallet was gone. I stood up and stared out at nothing through the twilight for a long moment, thinking. Where could it be? I'd had it when I walked into the bar. Did I pull it out for any reason? Nope. I had not stopped anywhere between there and the apartment. It was gone. It was just gone. I'd had it at the bar, and I didn't have it now. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I was sitting on the metal stool looking up at "Brandy's" cooter like it was the Super Bowl. Or worse. Maybe I'd been pick-pocketed. I thought back. Had anyone come close to me? Maybe it was the barmaid in her little leotard. But that didn't make sense. Nothing did. I knew what I would have to do, but I didn't move. I thought it through, saw myself walking back through the little door into the darkness, heard myself asking the doorman if anyone had turned in a wallet like I was a fool, saw him waving me through to look for it in the darkness, me going down on my hands and knees to search the sticky floor where I had sat, finding nothing, standing, looking around in the darkness like the idiot I was. Naked. Stripped.